Harlequin Hearts
by xkaarinax
Summary: Post TDK- Harleen Quinzel is Arkham's last attempt to 'solve' the Joker. She's fresh out of University, and determined to prove everyone wrong. But the Joker is as smart as he is sadistic. He might just be able to work this to his advantage. HarleyxJoker
1. Introductions

**A/N: after watching the Dark Knight, I was blown away by Heath Ledger's Joker, but kinda pissed that Harley didn't make an appearance. So this story started forming in my mind; it's ****post TDK, and slightly AU; the beginning is similar (but not exactly the same) to the Batman story line, but after that it goes a different way. Also, Harley may seem pretty OOC, because I've played around with her a bit, and changed a few things. Also, I'm using the Ledger/Nolan Joker, so he too is very different to the traditional Joker. I hope you like it, and I hope that no diehard Batman fans are offended!**

**Oh, and I've drawn some art for this fic which can be found on my DeviantArt page (link on my profile), with more to come. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story. I'm simply abusing them with my absurd plot bunnies XD**

**CHAPTER ONE: **

Soft, pale rays of light pierced the thin cloud as they poked over the horizon. They threaded their way through the buildings and into windows as morning spilled over Gotham City. The birds twittered as they emerged from their trees and nests, shaking off the dew that had settled overnight. People began to trickle onto the streets, followed by cars, and soon the city had settled back into its daily routine.

Police Commissioner Jim Gordon climbed out of his black Mercedes and entered a massive building bearing the letters GCPD. He greeted his colleagues as he passed them in the foyer, and received several chirpy replies of 'Good morning sir'. He got into the elevator and rode to level 6, where he got out and strode along the corridor to his office. His secretary popped up out of nowhere (she was good like that) with a fresh bagel and a cup of coffee, along with his schedule for the day. He accepted all three things from her, and shut himself in his office. He put his things down on his desk and gazed out the window at what was left of a beautiful sunrise. The city had recovered well from the anarchy and destruction caused by the Joker, just six months earlier. Almost all of the repairs had been done, including the hospital which had almost been totally rebuilt, and the bad guys put away for life. The Joker himself was locked away in an asylum, with a straightjacket and enough tranquilizers to numb a rhinoceros. As for Batman, there had been few sightings of him since. Gordon sighed as he sat back in his chair and sipped from his coffee. He could still recall perfectly the night when Batman had saved his family, and then sacrificed himself to save the city. Gordon hated that he couldn't thank him enough, only chase him around the city. But it was better than the alternative. Anything was.

Gordon picked up the file his secretary had handed him which contained his schedule for the day.

_Speak of the devil_, he thought, as he read. He had a meeting that morning at Arkham Asylum, where the Joker was being held, concerning security and staff changes. With yet another painful sigh, Gordon drank as much coffee as he could and set about doing some paperwork.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Alfred stared at the door which led to his employer's bedroom, which was currently locked. Bruce Wayne had spent much of the last six months in his room, when he wasn't moping around the study, staring at pictures of Rachel. Alfred was beginning to see Mr. Wayne as more of a teenager than an adult billionaire who had single-handedly saved the city and millions of lives. He was certainly acting that way. Alfred knocked with his free hand (the other held a tray laden with a cooked breakfast and the morning paper).

"Sir?"

There was no reply.

"Sir, this is getting quite ridiculous. You need to eat properly, or you'll waste away."

Still no reply.

"Sir, if you don't open this door, I'll force it open and then come in there and force this French toast down your throat."

Silence.

"Right, this is for your own good sir."

The door creaked open, to reveal a dark room that smelt rather unpleasant. In the doorway stood Bruce Wayne himself, his hair messy and greasy, in dire need or a wash and trim, and his face blackened with the beginnings of a very thick beard. There were large grey bags under his sunken eyes, and he was slouching something terrible.

"Good lord, sir. What happened to you?"

Mr. Wayne said nothing, only walked back into the darkness. Alfred heard the 'thump' of someone falling onto a bed. He took one step into the room, and found his foot submerged in dirty clothing. Grimacing, he persevered over to the bed, which he could hardly see. He felt around for the bedside table, and put down the tray. He then proceeded to stumble blindly over to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows and press the button which drew back the curtains.

Bruce groaned into a pillow as light flooded the room, illuminated the mess.

Alfred shook his head, "You can offer me all the money in the world; I am _not _cleaning this mess up. I'm sure Hiroshima looked better than this after 1945."

Bruce said nothing, only continued to bury his face into what was presumably a very dirty pillow.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

"Commissioner, sir, so glad you could come. We do of course treat the security around patient X with the utmost importance, and so we require you to approve all staff changes."

Gordon was walking along the white, sanitary halls of Arkham Asylum, with the head of security beside him, talking.

"Who is it?" Gordon said, taking a file which the head of security handed him.

"A new psychiatrist, fresh out of medical school. Patient X has driven mad three so far, all of whom were highly qualified and professional. We don't see the harm in taking a different approach this time."

Gordon nodded as he open the file. The first thing he saw was a photo of a young woman, who didn't look much older than twenty-five. She had mahogany brown hair, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to look through you.

"Dr Harleen Quinzel" Gordon read, his eyes skimming the writing. "She looks right, assuming this information is all correct."

"Ask her yourself," the head of security said as they reached his office. He opened the door and led Gordon in. Dr Harleen Quinzel was sitting on a chair with her legs crossed, looking thoughtfully out the window. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled back in a bun, with bits hanging loose around her hairline. She was wearing a tight, knee-length black skirt with a white shirt tucked into it. She certainly looked the part. She stood as they entered the room.

"Doctor, this is the Police Commissioner. Commissioner, Dr Quinzel."

The doctor shook Gordon's hand, and sat obediently as he waved her down.

"I'm off to do my rounds. I'll be back in ten minutes."

With that said, the head of security left the room, leaving Gordon and the pretty young doctor alone.

"So, doctor," Gordon said, leaning forward and resting his hands on the desk. "No doubt you have heard of the Joker, and what he has done to this city?"

She nodded.

"Then why would you want to work with such a psycho?"

"Because, sir, I believe that if we can find the root of the 'Joker's violent and somewhat cruel thoughts and actions, then not only can we prevent it happening again, but through extensive psychotherapy and medicine we can possibly even restore his sanity. It would also open up a world of possibilities in the field of psychology."

Gordon's eyebrows flew up, "You think you can _save_ the Joker?"

The doctor nodded, "Yes, sir, I do believe I can."

Gordon wasn't sure whether to laugh or be outraged. So he simply said, "You're hired."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Harley, the head of security and the commissioner were walking down the corridor towards the Joker's room. Her heartbeat was racing; she was about to be in the same room as one of the most deranged, dangerous men in the world. She had to stay calm, and not show how nervous she was. The Joker was not like other people, the way he worked and thought was completely different. He was not going to behave like any of the kinds of patients she'd studied at university.

Harley knew that to get anywhere with him, she was going to have to play along with his games. But if she could crack this case, despite the stress and pain it could… would cause her, she could make a serious difference to the world. And it would do wonders for her career.

Harley wasn't sure whether she truly believed that there was still a man within the Joker. She'd never thought it possible for somebody to become so twisted that they completely lost their sense of humanity. But she'd never met anyone like the Joker either.

"This is it," the security guard said, typing in a code, swiping a card and scanning his fingerprints. There was a click, followed by a series of metallic clicks, and the door opened.

Harley exchanged glances with the commissioner, before taking a deep breath and entering.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

"How're the kids, Gordon?" the Joker grinned, his dark brown eyes twinkling.

Gordon paled, trying not to show how uncomfortable this man made him.

""Who's the girl?" the Joker went on to say, looking the young doctor up and down. "A bit young for you, hm? What would the wife think?"

Gordon said nothing, but Harleen could see his fists clenching out of the corner of her eye.

"I can take it from here, sir," she said. The commissioner smiled gratefully at her and left.

Harleen looked back at the Joker. He certainly looked a lot different to the pictures she'd seen. He was wearing all white, and was strapped onto a bed which was standing upright, so that he was about the same level as her, only slightly higher. There was no paint or make-up on his face, yet he still didn't look human. It wasn't the scars; they weren't nearly as bad as they looked with the paint on. But it was the malice in his eyes, and feral grin.

"What's wrong?" he asked merrily. His voice was rough, and slightly crazed.

Harleen smiled, "Nothing. It's just that you look very different without your make-up."

The Joker continued to grin, "How observant. What are you here for, hm? You don't look like a cop, and I can't help but doubt they sent me a prostitute."

Harleen laughed, "A _prostitute_? I'm not sure whether to take offence to that or not."

"Oh please, do."

"No, I'm a psychiatrist."

The Joker's eyes widened in what was probably mock surprise,."_Really, _a psychiatrist? I suppose you've come to tell me what's wrong with me."

"On the contrary, I've come to let _you_ tell _me_ what's wrong with you."

The Joker's smile faded slightly, "Well, sorry to disappoint _doctor_, but there's nothing wrong with me. If there's anyone with something wrong with them, it's you."

Harleen sat down in a chair, facing him. "How do you figure that?"

"You're a puppet, controlled by the corporal giants and media deities that tell you what to think buy and do. It's really quite sad."

Harleen raised an eyebrow, "Care to divulge why you have a personal vendetta against society, Mr J?"

The Joker laughed that crazy laugh which haunted the dreams of so many. "Mr J? I like it; I think I'll have that put on my luggage!"

"Do you always use abrupt subject change as a defence mechanism?" Harleen asked, making notes on her clipboard.

The Joker smirked, "Not as empty-headed as you look then? How about this, you answer three questions, and I'll answer three. Deal?"

Harleen shrugged, "Why not. You can ask first."

The Joker giggled, "Alright then. Hm… What's your favourite colour?"

"Purple."

"Oooh, me too! Okay, okay, how old are you?"

"Twenty-five."

"A bit young to be a psychiatrist… alright, are you a virgin?"

Harleen laughed, "My god, a sado-masochist who killed thousands of people with mastermind plans, and this is the best you can do?"

"Do you always use abrupt subject change as a defence mechanism?"

Harleen laughed again, "Ah, touché. And no, I'm not."

The Joker giggled again, "I didn't think so. Your turn!"

Harleen made a few notes on her paper, before looking back up at him. He was still watching her carefully.

"Alright then. What's your real name?"

The Joker seemed to think carefully for a moment, before answering. "I don't remember."

Harleen raised an eyebrow and made a note.

"Interesting… Ok, how old are you?"

"Somewhere around thirty; but don't hold me to that."

"Right. Is that your real hair colour?"

The Joker smirked cheekily, "Care to find out?"

Harleen resisted the urge to gag, "I'll pass, thanks."

The Joker giggled delightedly, "Give it time, you'll warm up to me."

Harleen shook her head and made a few more notes.

"Ok, how about this: How did you get those scars? Honestly."

The Joker looked at her, "That's four questions. Maybe next time we play; I like this game!"

Harleen shook her head again, "Everything's a game, huh?"

The Joker grinned, "Now you're catching on!"

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

An hour or so later, Harley left. Once she closed the door behind her, she leaned with her back against the wall, taking deep breaths. She was still shaking.  
She didn't even know where to start. The Joker was… not human. Not even slightly. The only emotions he ever seemed to experience were delusional, manic amusement, and anger.

Usually, if a patient was upset, or sad, or emotionally vulnerable, they would try to mask it. Most failed miserably, but some managed it rather well. However, if you looked really deep into their eyes, you could always see how they really felt. But the Joker was different. The only things his eyes reflected were craziness, chaos and the occasional flicker of anger. They weren't hollow, like the eyes of other sick, sadistic criminals. They were full of life.

Harley didn't know what to think. She couldn't see any possible way to crack this… you couldn't call him a man, yet the title 'thing' didn't seem suitable… The only word that seemed to work was 'clown'.

Harley took another deep breath, before pushing herself off the wall and walking down the corridor.

She was going to do this. She was going to find the man within the Joker. Even if it killed her.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Bruce stepped out of his car into the crisp evening breeze. He had finally left the house after several months of moping, after Alfred threatened to retire. Bruce couldn't lose Alfred, not after everything that had happened.

He looked around; he was standing outside the city library. Not entirely sure why he had come here in the first place, Bruce locked his car and ventured inside.

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**A/N: … So, what did you think? Too long? Not long enough?**

**Also, I'm looking for a BETA if anyone's willing… it would be much appreciated!**

**Go on, review, you know you want to ******

**Rina xox**


	2. Wanna Know How I Got These Scars?

**A/N: ****I'm so, incredibly sorry for the long delay! I've had exams etc, and just no spare time. **_**But**_**, I did some research and worked on the character development, and now have the whole story mapped out, so theoretically the chapters should keep coming at a steady pace.**

**Again, I'm really sorry!**

**Okay, here's the second chapter. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own**** Batman. I'm just (ab)using the characters XD**

**CHAPTER TWO: **

Bruce stood at the doors of the library, his eyes scanning the room. There weren't many people here; only about five that he could see. Bruce tried to remember why he'd even come here in the first place.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Bruce turned to see an elderly librarian peering at him over the rims of her glasses.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?"

Bruce thought about everything that had happened to him in the last few years; the birth of Batman, the rise of Harvey Dent, the Joker, Rachael's death, Harvey's corruption, Harvey's death, the Joker's victory, and Batman's retreat. Part of him wanted to forget about it all, and start afresh. But part of him wanted to sit down and recall everything, unravel the mystery, figure out what happened and why. Why did the Joker choose Rachael? How was Harvey so easily corrupted? Why did he, Batman, ruin his own life to save people who wanted him in jail?

"What have you got on psychology?"

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Harley stared down at the book in front of her, reading the text for the hundredth time.

_**Schizophrenia**__: __A psychotic disorder characterized in the active phase by hallucinations, delusions, disorganized thoughts/speech, disorganized or catatonic behaviour, and apathy. One of the most complex of all mental health disorders; involves a severe, chronic, and disabling disturbance of the brain._

It didn't make sense. The Joker was far from sane, yet he couldn't be classified as insane. He fitted the descriptions of neither a schizophrenic, bi-polar, or split-personality. The best Harley could come up with was sado-masochist, but even that didn't seem to fit.

This was going to be harder than she thought.

Harley shut the book she had been reading and pulled another one over towards her. She glanced at the clock on the wall; Eight-forty five p.m. She'd already been here for six hours, and would probably be here for six more.

Harley looked down at her notes; they didn't tell her anything she needed to know. There was only one thing she could think of that held a link to the Joker's current state of mind; his past. But Harley didn't see any way of getting access to it. The Joker seemed to be without identity. His prints didn't match anything in the National database, DNA samples had come up blank, and he didn't even seem to have a name.

But there had to be a way… there had to…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

_**The savage god: A study of suicide – **__**C. O. Bane**_

_**Memory's voice: Deciphering the mind-brain code and unlocking the sub-conscience – **__**Dr. R. E. M. Barh**_

_**The broken brain: The biological revolution in psychiatry – **__**Dr V. R. Beave**_

_**Angry men, passive men – **__**Dr. P. A. Bloch**_

_**Stand up, speak out, talk back: the key to self-assertive behaviour – **__**I. R. Bold**_

_**A guide to psychotherapy – **__**Dr C. A. Brom**_

_**The face of schizophrenia: Practical counsel from Gotham's leading experts**_

Bruce scanned along the shelf; he wasn't sure if he had the energy to read any of these. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young woman walking towards him, reading a piece of paper.

She stopped next to him and looked up at the shelf.

"Excuse me," she said politely. Bruce stepped aside obediently, and watched as she slid '_Memory's Voice: Deciphering the mind-brain code and unlocking the sub-conscience_' off the shelf, and walked off clutching it.

Bruce took one last look at the shelf, and walked away. Some mysteries were better left unsolved.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

"Good morning Miss Quinzel. You're early."

Harley smiled back at the friendly security guard, who greeted her at the entrance to Arkham.

"Am I? I thought I was late…"

The guard chuckled and waved her past. Harley held her folder closer to her chest as she walked across the foyer, her shoes clacking on the white linoleum.

"Morning Doctor Quinzel," the receptionist said. "Just go on through. Patient X is still in his observatory cell."

"Thanks," Harley said, pushing through a large set of white doors into a floodlit corridor. The floors and walls were made of dark stone, and there were glass panels along each wall which looked into cells. Most of them were occupied, but their inhabitants lurked in the shadows. The two guards with shotguns nodded to Harley as she walked past.

"Cell 17," one of them grunted.

Harley took a deep breath and walked down the corridor, counting as she went. People inside the cells crept from the shadows and watched her from under messy hair with wide, crazed eyes.

After what seemed like an eternity, she reached Cell 17.

He was sitting on the bed with his back against the wall, staring at the wall opposite and swaying his head gently.

Harley gently brushed her finger against a button on the wall, switching on the audio. The Joker was humming, but she didn't recognize the tune.

"Morning, Doctor," he said cheerily, without looking at her.

Harley didn't even bother trying to figure out how he knew that she was there.

"You're early," he said, turning his head slightly to look at her. "Eager to see me, hm?"

Harley smiled, "You could say that."

The Joker chuckled. Harley nodded to one of the security guards, who approached the cell.

"White Room four," she said, before walking back down the corridor, as the guard prepared to transport the Joker.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

"So, here we are again," Harley said calmly from her black leather chair. The Joker was once again strapped to a white bed which had been elevated so that Harley could see him properly.

"You know you love it, Harley dear," the Joker giggled.

Harley froze for a second… how did her know her-?

"You're wearing a name-tag, darling," the Joker drawled, taking obvious please from her discomfort.

Harley cursed herself for being so foolish and allowing him to mess with her.

"Well, Mister J, I'd like to focus today's session on your past, if you don't mind," she said smoothly, regaining her composure.

The Joker said nothing, but there was a strange, somewhat unnerving twinkle in his eyes.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" he said quietly after several seconds silence.

Harley sat up in her chair, readjusting her clipboard.

"When I was ten, my father was sent to jail-…"

"Why?"

The Joker's eyes narrowed. "For killing my mother, I was getting to that. Don't interrupt me again."

Harley was so keen to hear the story that she didn't protest the disregard for her authority.

"Anyway, he was given twenty to life, and I was sent to live with my Nan, who soon started taking anti-depressants to help her deal with the death of her only daughter. I was getting into a bit of trouble at school, starting fights with boys making cracks about my family. Things were rough.

"One day, I was brawling with this boy… now, what was his name...? Hm…. Paul, I think. Anyway, I was fighting this boy Paul, and I shoved him onto the ground. Unfortunately for me, he landed face first on a broken glass bottle, and one of the shards pierced his jugular. I was sent to young offender's prison for seven years, the maximum sentence a minor could receive, for manslaughter. I'll never forget what the judge said; 'Apparently brutality and stupidity run in your family, boy'."

The Joker paused for dramatic effect, obviously inviting Harley to speak. However, she couldn't form any words; only stare at him, wide eyed, anxious to hear more.

"So, I'm serving my last weeks, literally my last weeks in prison, when a new arrival comes. A kid a few years younger than me, Mike, charged with third-degree murder. Turns out he's Paul's younger brother, and things have been very bad for them since my accident in the schoolyard. So Mike manages to break into my cell one night, and rips open my mouth with a glass shard, dragging it from one ear to another. Then he slits his wrists and dies right there in front of me.

"I got out a month later, but things were never the same. I was eighteen at that point; there was no point in going back to school. I had no qualifications, no education, no skills, and no money. My Nan had overdosed not long after I went to prison, and I had no other relatives. No friends. No one and nothing. And to top it all off, I had these dirty great scars on my face. Nobody accepted me, and so I turned to a life of crime. And here I am."

A dramatic silence descended upon the room. Harley was still staring at the Joker in shock, but he was no longer staring back. His gaze was directed at the white wall to his left. There were no tears in his eyes, not one sign of emotion. But when he turned to look at her, Harley could see the pain in his large brown eyes. They were very large, in fact, she had never realised what beautiful eyes he had.

Her eyes travelled to his scars. They were bad, sure, but no one was perfect, right?

Harley looked down at her clipboard, on which she'd written nothing. Not a word.

"Our time's up," she managed to stammer, before leaving the room as quickly as possible, well aware that they had another ninety minutes of their session left. The head of security was waiting outside.

"Taking a break?" he asked. Harley just pushed past him, her hands shaking, her heart racing. She found her way outside, the sunlight blinding her as she stumbled through the carpark to her car, throwing the door open and climbing inside.

_Stop it Harl_, she said mentally. _Get a hold of yourself. That man… no, that monster is a homicidal maniac. He has no feelings, no emotions. Don't let him play his mind games with you._

Harley took several deep, shuddering breaths, before calming down.

"I can do this," she said aloud to herself, turning the key in the ignition. "I won't fall for his tricks. I'm not weak. I can do this."

That night, when she went to bed, he was all she could think about. _Memory's Voice: Deciphering the mind-brain code and unlocking the sub-conscience_ lay on her bedside table, untouched.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Bruce stood facing the suit in which he'd accomplished several incredible feats, saved many lives, while dooming many others. He knew every bump, every chip, every dent, every knick, every point, and every edge; where the paint shone, and where it was wearing thin. It was like a second skin to him. Yet, looking at it now, if seemed so alien. Bruce had almost forgotten how it felt to wear the Batsuit. Whether this was good or bad he was yet to decipher.

"You can't ignore this forever sir," Alfred said from behind him. Bruce jolted slightly; he hadn't even heard the Butler come in, he'd been so immersed in though.

"Crime in Gotham has risen forty percent since the disappearance of Batman. That's a staggering figure, sir. The city needs your help," Alfred continued, standing beside Bruce.

"I can't, Alfred. I'm a wanted man," Bruce said quietly, his eyes not leaving the suit.

"No sir, Batman is a wanted man. You are not. Besides, you know Gordon will never really try to catch you. He needs you."

Bruce said nothing, just kept staring.

"The Joker's locked away safely in Arkham, and he's looking at a death sentence if no breakthroughs are made as to his psychological state by next year…"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. This was news to him. Good news.

Alfred continued. "Dent is gone, and Crane is locked safely away. There's only the small-time, lesser-minded crooks left wandering the streets, and innocent civilians are taking the hits. The police can't be in a thousand places at once."

"Neither can Batman."

"Batman didn't need to be, sir. The very possibility that he might turn up was enough to scare most small-time criminals away."

Bruce sighed. The old man had a point.

"You just need to clean up the robbers and muggers. Start low, work your way back up again."

Bruce looked at Alfred for the first time. "Work my way up to what?"

Alfred looked him in the eye, his expression grave.

"Sir, you know as well as I that it's only a matter of time before another psychopath like the Joker emerges. And if Batman isn't there when he does, then Gotham is truly doomed."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Harley arrived at Arkham the next day, feeling ready for anything. She'd spent the morning soaking in the bath, reading over her notes, before having a large breakfast with a strong coffee. She'd gotten her hair done, before driving to Arkham, singing along to Queen's greatest hits.

Most importantly, she'd prepared herself for the Joker's worst.

Needless to say, she was feeling confident.

She strolled up to reception.

"Good day Miss Quinzel," the receptionist said. "Patient X is currently undergoing a medical examination, if you could just…-"

"Actually," Harley said, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. "I was looking for Mr Bates. Is he in yet?"

Mr Bates was the Head of Security.

The receptionist smiled, "He's in his office. He's free this morning, so just go on in."

Harley grinned, "Thanks."

She strutted down the corridor, well aware that the guards were watching her, and not because they were worried about her safety.

She knocked on Mr Bates' door.

"Come in."

She swung the door open to see the man himself in a leather chair, pouring over blueprints.

"Morning Mr Bates," she said cheerfully.

"Morning Miss Quinzel. You're happy today, I see. Win the lottery last night?"

Harley giggled, "No, I don't gamble."

Mr Bates smiled, "You must have made a breakthrough with Sir Psycho then? I heard you left your session early."

Harley smirked, "About that, I'd like to make a request about my future sessions with Patient X."

"Fire away."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

"Well Harley, I gotta say, this is considerably more comfortable than a straight jacket and a white coffin."

The Joker was lying on a black leather couch, dressed in Arkham issue clothes; a plain white shirt, white pants, and white slippers. He had ESCAPE RISK plastered across the back of his shirt in bright orange.

Harley grinned from her leather chair. She'd sweet-talked Bates into letting her work with the Joker in a more… relaxed setting. However, because he was still considered a serious threat to her safety, he had two guards either side of him with bullet and stab proof vests, loaded Glock pistols, and permission to shoot to kill. There was one more by the door, armed with a shotgun.

Still, it made things interesting.

**A/N: Ok, strange place to leave it, I know. But it just works out this way. Next chapter coming asap. (Sorry again!)**

**Kaarina x**


End file.
